i love you just the way i am #littlelightlady
noise dept.
$LAYYYTER
todays bird
we're not kids anymore.

⁂
No title available
tumblr dot com
ojovivo
Sade Olutola
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
No title available
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

No title available
hello vonnie

oozey mess
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

izzy's playlists!
Misplaced Lens Cap
NASA

seen from Canada
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Italy

seen from Austria
seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy
seen from Italy

seen from Malaysia
seen from Austria

seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Singapore

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Austria
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
@thechimeraspeaks
i love you just the way i am #littlelightlady
19/11/2013
there’s a river in Romania whose name came to be the name of every river, the stream by which all other rapids were defined it was baptised in the Roma language for the way the way it’s cool blue glanced the grassy banks and stirred the rubbled bed for the way it was always there and shining nova brightly you have become the prototype the stream by which all other loves will be defined the name of every body of water that i now try to cross redefining items in my lexicon living forever in my language haunting the hollows of my mouth like a new word for ghost
you call me at 7am my phone buzzes me awake under my pillow where it shouldn't be your voice is groggy a swampsworth of amphibians croaking from your throat and you belch my name into me "hello" vocal cords like sandpaper doing the salsa and a laugh that feels like home and unfamiliarity "oh shit I didn't mean to call you but uhm then again maybe i did" good morning love
i have imagined hearing your voice crooning me conscious while i cower undersheets but my dreams stripped clothes from you and distance from between us i can hear my father coughing in the kitchen and the whir of the microwave you murmur a dream to me and i weave myself into a catcher we have built a city, you and i a civilization uncivilized only visible through our shared minds' eyes i know that archaeologists will never wonder about this never excavate this exhibition never pull monuments from memories (lingering too long over coffee and kisses and your hand like moses to my red sea thighs)
our laughter will be the lexicon of a lost language one our tongues are teaching each other even when only satellites and accidental morning dials remind them of each other's existence
Bringing Some Color to the Guggenheim:
What with planning for her retrospective at the Guggenheim, helping inner-city youth enter the music business, fighting gun violence in an advertising campaign, and managing to get a peony named after an African American hero, Carrie Mae Weems was pretty busy even before she got The Call last week from the MacArthur Foundation. So the news that she won a “genius grant” added another whirlwind of activity on her already intimidating schedule.
“I was floored,” the artist said on the speakerphone from her car as she raced between engagements in Syracuse, New York, where she lives and teaches. “It was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard.”
Along with the 23 other MacArthur recipients this year, Weems will receive $625,000 over the next five years, no strings attached.
“I’ll buy a new dress and a new pair of shoes for sure,” she says. “But everything will go back into my work because that’s what I do. It will go to the projects I care about.”
A charismatic artist, activist, and educator, Weems is best known for installations, videos, and photographs that invite the viewer to reflect on issues of race, gender, and class.
A wry wit infuses even her most uncompromising works, which comment on stereotypes, slavery, miscegenation, and the exclusion of blacks—as artists and subjects—from Western art history. Her traveling retrospective, which began at the Frist Center in Nashville last year and opens at its final stop, the Guggenheim, on January 24, includes the naughty “Ain’t Jokin’” series (1987-88); “The Kitchen Table Series” (1990) photographs of domestic scenes that inspired Mickalene Thomas to be an artist; and the fabulous Afro-Chic fashion video (2009), among some 200 objects Weems has produced over the last three decades.
She’s been talking to Guggenheim staff about ways to jumpstart a demographic shift in the museum’s typical audience.
“ I want to make sure I have a dynamic presence of people of color flowing through the space,” she says. One idea she’s thinking about is a live-broadcast performative conversation, maybe something along the lines of Jon Stewart’s Daily Show. Maybe with a comic and a house band.
“There could be a night around art and activism, with people who are troubling the waters, as they say,” she comments. “A night called Laughing to Keep from Crying or, Jewish Comedy, Black Comedy, and the Power of Resistance.”
Read more at artnews.com
Untitled (Man and mirror), from “The Kitchen Table Series,” 1990, gelatin silver print. COURTESY JACK SHAINMAN GALLERY. Carrie Mae Weems & Social Studies 101, Operation: Activate, 2011.COURTESY THE ARTIST. The Du Bois Peony of Hope, officially named by the American Peony Society, is part of a Du Bois Memorial Garden that Weems designed in collaboration with landscape architect Walter J. Hood. COURTESY THE ARTIST. Untitled (Man smoking), from “The Kitchen Table Series,” 1990, gelatin silver print. COURTESY THE ARTIST AND JACK SHAINMAN GALLERY, NEW YORK. Carrie Mae Weems, Mirror Mirror, from the series “Ain’t Jokin’,” 1987-1988, gelatin silver print. COURTESY THE ARTIST AND JACK SHAINMAN GALLERY, NEW YORK. May Flowers, from the series “May Days Long Forgotten,” 2002, digital chromogenic print. COURTESY THE ARTIST AND JACK SHAINMAN GALLERY, NEW YORK. Some Said You Were the Spitting Image of Evil, from the series “From Here I Saw What Happened and I Cried,” 1995-96, chromogenic print with etched text on glass. COURTESY THE ARTIST AND JACK SHAINMAN GALLERY, NEW YORK.
Sorry I've been so inactive! I'm in school. I'm writing, but it's usually in margins or where notes should be.
Stealing Beauty || Guy Ben-Ner, dir. 2007
As seen in MCA Chicago's Homebodies exhibit.
Ryuji Nakamura - Cornfield (2010) - Paper and glue
Victor Burgin - Photopath (1986)
Hans-Peter Feldmann installation at the Guggenheim (2011).
The Cathedral Church of Saint Mary in Murcia, Spain
LOUIS PHILLIPE DE GAGOUE
For the past five days style-icon Louis Phillipe has been guest editing here on Studio Africa. Check out his posts by clicking through the Louis Phillipe de Gagoue tag or checking for posts ending with his trademark “Hope you enjoy! xx
01/08/2013
i learned the body hanging limp and holy from the cross was as true as two and two as true as the fear forming fists in the heat of my belly when i took my sample of the body from the quiet balding priest.
i have only question marks and rosary beads and incredulous defiance of the rhythmic ritual (kneel-stand-kneel-stand-sit-stand-sit, this rain dancing for holy water). my god came to me through conquest and was this his plan? did he colonize me catholic? did he foresee my soot skin and try to baptize me with my grandfather's blood and my grandmother's tears? did he strip my mother's tongue from my mouth and think these new white words were holier?
i don't know if the same Someone lives in negro spiritual and gregorian chant i don't know if the same Someone lives in basilica and shanty town i don't know this Someone at all and i wonder where His loyalties lie
Hey you,
I know it’s been a while. My fingers have been off trying to create beautiful things but your name is just such an easy way to do it, you know? So here we are again. I think it’s getting harder- this whole loving you thing. Sometimes I wake up at 2 a.m. and check my phone just to see if you’ve replied, sometimes I don’t fall asleep simply waiting for you to say something, most times, you never do. Every time I try to talk myself out of loving you it feels as though my mind is waging a war with my heart that it can never win because these days it actually feels like my heart isn’t even here to begin with. It’s as though I packed it off to you in some poetic gesture and hoped you’d handle with care. Or just that you’d care enough to open it up.
I miss you a lot. This last week has been one of the hardest I’ve made it through and even as everything was happening, this unrelenting voice kept whispering that just a glimpse of you would ease the pain. A flicker of that stretch soul smile of yours, that winter crust voice, those honey dipped eyes. You make things bearable- or at least worth bearing if they lead in your direction. And in the same way, beauty tastes bland without you here. Everything is perfect but then I feel your absence and nothing is worth it anymore.
You take up so much of me and don’t even know it. You do so much to me and don’t even flinch. Have you ever wondered if it’s you? Have you ever thought that maybe you actually are the person that’s been spilling into my morning sadness, my midnight madness, my everywhen? I wonder too often about the parts of your mind I’ve touched. Have I come to you in a dream, in a fleeting thought, in a lingering memory?
I’ve been falling for you gently, you know. Trying not to bump into things in the dark so you don’t wake in the middle of the night and never find peace again because of the truth of what this is. I’ve been tip toeing with this feeling. Been telling you I love you by saying your hair looks nice today. Been staying around just so that I’d be there if you need me. Been waiting for you to need me like I’ve been needing you too long.
If you ever fall, I hope it’s in love. If you ever love, I hope you love as fiercely as you have let me by simply being who you are. I hope you always are this person. This intoxicating bundle of atoms that could send every scientist searching their telescopes for a way to recreate you. In a way, I’ve been recreating you- in these poems and pieces and letters. I’ve been keeping you here because your absence is too loud sometimes, and my heartbeat gets too lonely. I’ve been getting too lonely these days.
If you ever love, I hope it’s never this quietly. I hope every cell in your skin is allowed to scream their name, that you can kiss their lips and find your center of gravity in their chest. I hope you can tell your friends about them. Not have to write over their name in your notebook, or hide their picture in your drawer. I hope you can love loud. Love well. Love ‘til that thirst is quenched.
As for me, your hair looks nice today.
I got you.
Black proverb. I am taking your needs in consideration, or your needs are being taken care of. (via blackproverbs)
Three shafts of sunlight illuminate the basilica and its mosaic floor in the Vatican, December 1971. Photograph by Albert Moldvay, National Geographic
St. Peter's is the most beautiful man-made thing I have ever, ever seen with these flawed eyes.